


Conduct me a Rainbow

by TheWhiteLily



Series: Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2016 [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mini case fic, sherlock POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:52:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7552042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWhiteLily/pseuds/TheWhiteLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is, as always, Sherlock's conductor of light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conduct me a Rainbow

**Author's Note:**

> For Watson's Woes July 21st Prompt: 21 Song Salute (Make me Rainbows)

Sherlock has always tended to see things in black and white: collect the data, dismiss the irrelevancies, see the obvious answer appear to the puzzle, and marvel at the idea that _anyone_ couldn’t see what was right in front of them.

John goes about things the other way around.  He theorises well ahead of the fact, seeing only one part of the spectrum, blinded to the reality of the whole.  He spots the ridiculous possibility of a lone Morse signaller on a hill, and follows it up with credulous determination. 

He sees the widow’s reddened eyes and grief-stricken tears and diagnoses innocence, without noticing the way her makeup (waterproof, high quality organic brand, seventy pounds a bottle at least) contrasts with her dramatically running mascara (new bottle, cheap mass-market brand).  He follows up on the possibility that her grief is real, without seeming to notice the little label that pops up over her face in Sherlock’s mind: _Planned ahead_.

But sometimes John’s limited, pedestrian view acts as a conductor of light for Sherlock.  His mind highlights a single pure colour, oblivious to the blinding whole, and the prospect of explaining his idiocy to him acts as a prism for Sherlock, refracting and separating a full rainbow of possibilities to his eyes.  Verbalising his deductions, explaining his methods in the small words comprehensible to John forces him to think beyond the inevitable inference.

The colour of the light cast onto the scene by John’s compassion for the widow's over-the-top performance is why—before Sherlock rolls his eyes in disgust at Lestrade and tells him, “She did it.  Obviously.”—he pauses, and considers another option.

With a nod to John to distract everyone for a moment, Sherlock slips away to double-check the bathroom. 

In the medicine cabinet is a small prescription bottle of allergy eye-drops.  The cruelty-free tube of mascara that would match her look is in the bathroom bin, while the cheap animal-tested one sits unashamedly in the drawer with the rest of her rainbow palettes of feminine war-paint. 

Perhaps she killed her husband.  Perhaps not.

But it’s always been a capital mistake to theorise ahead of examining the entire spectrum of facts.  And in that light, this case has just got  _interesting_.


End file.
